"Who is Bolton's bastard?" Commander Gendry wore a black studded vest, black breeches, and black riding boots. A sharp sword hung at Gendry's waist, while his arakh was carried by the Captain of the Guard, Grey Wolf.
Gendry was tall and upright, his short black hair like black jade, and his blue eyes like a deep ocean. On his handsome face, one could see the aura of a youthful storm, unique to a rising young talent.
Ramsay recognized Gendry at first sight. So young, so handsome, even in ordinary clothes, he still possessed the heroic bearing and charm of a great figure.
"He's indeed of House Baratheon stock," Ramsay thought. Ramsay had never met King Robert. Roose had hidden Ramsay away like a clown for many years, never allowing him to leave The Dreadfort's territory, let alone meet important figures. But Ramsay knew the characteristics of House Baratheon: tall, black-haired, and blue-eyed.
"Why? Why?" Ramsay was filled with both anger and hatred. Ramsay understood why he disliked them. It was that radiant, youthful feeling, a shining, sun-like demeanor. That was the kind of temperament Ramsay had never possessed; he only had Reek's companionship and Roose's disdain.
Ramsay hated these people, especially those dazzling young men and women, while he was ugly and fat. Why was it that, though they were both bastards, this person was so much more beautiful than him? He wanted to destroy these handsome young men and women, just as he had destroyed his older brother, Domeric.
"Not now, hold back," Ramsay kept telling himself. Next was the performance of the real and fake Reek.
"Yes, my lord. I am Lord Bolton's son, Ramsay Snow. I think we have some misunderstanding," the fake Reek replied eagerly. "We are only here to look at the grain and have not offended you."
"Get out, leave now." Gendry looked at the two men: the Reek in fine clothes, and another servant, dirty and stinking, huddled in a corner of the inn.
"Stench" was the first smell Gendry noticed. The person in fine clothes had an undeniable natural body odor, as if he lived in a pigsty every day. The servant in the corner had even dared to smear himself with urine and filth, which was even more disgusting.
"Who is he?" Gendry asked the person in fine clothes, who stood there flustered. Gendry pointed at the plump lump, the person who claimed to be the bastard's servant.
"My servant, Reek," the fake Reek said brazenly. "Please forgive him, my lord, he lives in a pigsty and never bathes, so he inevitably smells a bit."
"Good fellow," Ramsay thanked his good servant from the bottom of his heart.
"Truly lives up to his name," Gendry smiled. "But you also need a bath now, Reek."
"Thank you, my lord," the fake Reek said humbly, making to leave.
"Right here, in this room," Gendry said. "Where else do you plan to bathe?"
Two strong Dothraki Unsullied blocked the fake Reek, and his expression instantly froze.
"Is this how Lord Roose disciplines his son? To come here and steal from me?" Gendry asked. "You are merely guests. The castle and lands belong to me, and I cannot tolerate thieves. Stealing in Westeros requires a hand to be chopped off, but for attempting to steal the blueprints of a military factory, I fear beheading would be more appropriate..."
"My lord, please forgive me, I will leave all our gold to you!" the fake Reek shouted, as if he were a true lord.
Gendry ignored the fake Reek's plea. Grey Wolf handed him his arakh. Gendry drew the arakh; valyrian steel was the sharpest thing in the world.
The blade had black, wavy patterns, a characteristic of valyrian steel. The faint cold gleam silenced the surrounding air.
Gendry gripped the long blade, first pointing it at the fake Ramsay, then directly at the servant who called himself Reek.
"He is Reek. You are the real Ramsay, aren't you? Snow, Ramsay Snow." Gendry looked at the young man covered in urine and filth, who was smiling foolishly.
Ramsay's smile instantly froze. Ramsay stood still. His ingratiating smile vanished, replaced only by cold indifference.
"It's time for a bath, Ramsay." Gendry looked at Ramsay. It was said that Ramsay would kill anyone who dared to remind him of his birth, either with dogs or by starving them. But in front of Gendry, Ramsay showed calm restraint.
Although Ramsay was cruel, he wasn't completely brain-dead; he knew to fear power.
The Dothraki Unsullied made Ramsay undress, then hosed him down with cold water to remove the stench.
The Unsullied brought several buckets. The water in the wooden buckets poured directly from his head to his toes. The icy water washed over Ramsay's body. The Unsullied's service was rough, but Ramsay could only accept it. Ramsay wanted to pull out his butcher's knife, but he didn't.
Ramsay stood motionless, accepting this punishment. He began to regret his audacity. Nothing would have happened if he hadn't been so eager to show off, bringing this unnecessary humiliation upon himself.
However, he was still the heir to the second most powerful house in the North; surely there wouldn't be any more abuse, right? Ramsay pondered his fate.
"Put them on."
The Dothraki Unsullied found clothes from the room and had the now odorless Ramsay put them on.
Gendry observed the newly scrubbed Ramsay. He was indeed too ugly, very ugly in the original description. It seemed Roose's dislike had a reason; in any era, appearances mattered greatly.
Ramsay Snow had a broad frame, sloping shoulders, and a fleshy body. His face featured a bulbous nose, a small mouth, and thick, sausage-like lips. His black hair resembled dry straw, and his pink skin was mottled.
"Roose Bolton's tragedy certainly matches his wickedness," Gendry thought. Roose was no good, so it was normal for him to have a wicked offspring to torment him. Ramsay had poisoned his legitimate brother.
"You know my identity now, Commander Gendry. How should I address you, Gendry Waters, Gendry Storm? I think we can talk in this room now, can't we?" Ramsay looked at Gendry. The only thing Ramsay resembled his father Roose in was his eyes—the pale eyes of House Bolton, which looked like two dirty pieces of ice.
"Are you trying to negotiate with me, Ramsay?" Gendry suddenly laughed. "Make him sober up, Guardsman."
Gendry didn't like Ramsay, but he was still Roose's son. Killing him directly would only create a powerful enemy. Roose dared to send this son, likely calculating that Gendry would implicitly understand and at least not harm him. Moreover, this fool Ramsay constantly drew enmity for House Bolton and tarnished its reputation.
The Dothraki Unsullied glared fiercely at Ramsay. Ramsay Snow suddenly felt a bad premonition.
One Unsullied placed a short sword at Ramsay's neck, and Ramsay instantly froze. Another Dothraki looked at Ramsay's fat face, then, expressionless, struck him several times across his fleshy face.
The Unsullied's slaps were loud and sharp. Ramsay's cheeks quickly became red and swollen, and red blood flowed from his lips.
Reek stood stunned. It had been a long time since he had seen Ramsay so miserable.
"This is not the North, not The Dreadfort, not my home." Ramsay suddenly sobered up; the pain brought him clarity. Ramsay knew he had some cunning and trickery, but in the face of absolute power, Ramsay felt he had nowhere to hide.
"The first slap: you tried to deceive me. The second slap: you called me Waters, you called me Storm, I don't like being called that. The third slap, Ramsay: do not negotiate with someone far stronger than you, and do not play your petty tricks. You are not Roose, you are not the Lord of The Dreadfort, you have no right to negotiate with me." Gendry spoke coldly. Ramsay felt as if he was falling into a snowdrift. There was a sense of powerlessness, like facing his father Roose.
"So I am not strong; my power only comes from my father," Ramsay thought, disillusioned. Without The Dreadfort's protection, how could he be so fierce? Ramsay's hounds, Ramsay's boys—The Dreadfort protected him.
"Don't hit Lord Ramsay, don't hit Lord Ramsay!" the servant Reek screamed at the top of his lungs. Reek had never refused any of Ramsay's commands. He was perhaps the most cooperative person in House Bolton.
Gendry felt that Reek might have been completely trained. Gendry found it hard to judge this kind of bond; it was a friendship of mutual stench.
Reek even tried to rescue Ramsay, but his skills weren't very refined. Reek charged forward, throwing punches, but two Dothraki Unsullied used their sword hilts to strike Reek's ribs, bringing the stinking, loyal servant to heel.
Gendry watched Reek's fighting style: crude and wild. It seemed Roose didn't care much for his bastard; the Reek sent to serve Ramsay was a blundering fool himself. Such a person teaching Ramsay to fight would likely only teach him brute force, and Ramsay didn't possess any natural superhuman strength either.
"Go," Gendry said. Ramsay looked at Reek, who was half-kneeling on the ground spitting, and knew he had no room to resist.
Ramsay led Reek out of the room, towards an unpredictable tomorrow.
"Mission half-failed, half-successful?" Ramsay thought. "Even if I'm exposed, being able to establish a direct connection with the Mercenary King will help my standing at The Dreadfort."
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